


Don't Worry

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: It Started With a Flower [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Merlin is So Done (Merlin), Merlin is a Little Shit, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Gwen (Merlin), Protective Merlin, Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Worried Merlin (Merlin), merlin please don't scare your mortals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Merlin has lived through many, many things. He continues to live through many, many things.The fact that he can do this does not prevent Gwen and Arthur from worrying when he makes some, frankly, quite questionable decisions.Or, five times Merlin makes Arthur and Gwen worry, and one time they make him worry in return.
Relationships: Gwen & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: It Started With a Flower [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932676
Comments: 16
Kudos: 278





	Don't Worry

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to the person who requested this!! It was so nice to look back at the true mountain of drabbles on this account...
> 
> ...still can't get over the fact that a drabble is SUPPOSED to be 100 words exactly
> 
> also SHAMELESS D20 reference because that's how we roll babey

**Prompt:** okay so i found your quarantine drabble "it started with a flower" merlin series and can we pls have more of gwen and arthur being worry warts while merlin continues to not understand why their worried? bonus points if merlin is immortal/cant be killed by human injuries so he's more reckless and gwen and arthur are just like "oh for fucks sake please stop merlin if for no other reason then we are mortal and you're killing us w stress" we love self-sacrificing merlin and his worried lovers

  


* * *

  


**1: Poison**

  


In hindsight, the visiting lord was absolutely trying to kill both Arthur and Gwen. The man turned up with all his servants and knights in armor. Even the servants, yes, in leather tunics and with many different squires juggling things that were definitely supposed to be kept hidden. Arthur, of course, didn’t realize this because he’s been trying to be more focused on his own presentation—at least that’s the excuse he gives Gwen—but Merlin knows better. He’s been doing this for a long time.

  


So when the lord makes a show of rising to his feet amidst a jubilant feast, raising a goblet high in the air, praising Camelot, her strength, and the power of a strong, _worthy_ leader, Merlin has to hide the roll of his eyes when he deftly removes both Gwen and Arthur’s goblets from their grasps. Arthur opens his prat mouth to ask what the hell is going on, only for Merlin to raise an eyebrow, toast to the lord, and down the contents of both.

  


“ _Merlin!”_

  


Lancelot is out of his chair in an instant, rushing across the hall to catch Merlin as he slumps, followed swiftly by Gwaine who bellows for Gaius. Percival and Elyan don’t hesitate to draw steel, watching as the servants of the visiting lord hold up their hands.

  


“My lord,” the visiting lord simpers, “I have absolutely no idea what could have—“

  


“Save it,” Arthur growls, standing, “you have brought poison into the heart of Camelot. You will _explain,_ but I have no wish to hear your pathetic mumblings right now.”

  


He turns his back on the lord as the knights rush him, holding the others at bay as Arthur kneels down at Merlin’s side. Gwen rises as well, her chin aloft, looking every bit the queen she is.

  


Merlin, of course, can’t hear a damn thing past the roaring of blood in his ears. This one’s a nasty one—he can feel it burning as it goes down his throat, splitting off into slivers that find their way through his body, into his chest, into his arms, right down to the tips of his fingers. It feels as though he’s both deathly cold and about to sweat out every little bit of moisture in his body.

  


He can’t see much either, his eyes squeezing shut to deal with the pain, but he can sense the moving of blurry shapes above him. Probably Lancelot, probably Gwaine, probably _not_ Gaius yet, he’s quite far away.

  


Oh, is he being lifted? He’s probably being lifted. Alright, so they’re taking him _to_ Gaius this time. That’s new. Wow, is the walk to Gaius’s always this long? Yes? No? He’s having a bit of a hard time keeping track of time right now.

  


“Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?”

  


“Yes,” Merlin tries to say, only for his throat to explode in agony again the second fresh air enters, so he just ends up making this horrible half-screech-groan sound.

  


“Don’t try and speak,” the voice orders, presumably doing something other than just standing there watching this happen, not that Merlin can feel anything, “just hold on. We’re doing our best.”

  


Merlin closes his eyes fully and relaxes as much as he can onto the bench. Which probably isn’t very much if he remembers how most of these poisons work. He breathes, reaches deep into his chest for his magic, and waits, letting the slow golden light work its way around his body, helped along by whatever Gaius is doing to him.

  


He opens his eyes an uncertain amount of time later, looking straight into the most disapproving eyebrow he’s gotten in a while.

  


He swallows, cracking a smile when his throat merely tingles.

  


“So,” he croaks, “did I miss the rest of the feast?”

  


“Oh, Merlin!”

  


Ah, there’s Gwen—she flies into his arms, wrapping her own tightly around his middle, squeezing and holding on for dear life. Oh, her face is wet, has she—

  


“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, clumsily trying to pat her back, “it’s okay, ‘m alright. You’re alright too.”

  


“Thanks to you,” Gwen says, drawing back and wiping her face only to join Gaius in staring at him with the face of a disappointed parent, “ _Merlin,_ what were you thinking?”

  


“I was thinking that I have a much better chance of surviving that than you and Arthur?”

  


Gwen bats his shoulder with her shawl. “That is _beside_ the point and you know it. You _scared_ us.”

  


“Sorry, but—“

  


“No, Merlin,” Gwen says sternly, “no ‘buts.’ I understand what you’re trying to do, but you _know_ this isn’t good for you.”

  


“I don’t normally down poison on the regular, no.”

  


He grins, big and cheeky, right in her face. And to give her credit, she manages to gold that stern queenly façade for a few moments longer before she breaks, smiling and shaking her head and rushing right back in to hug him.

  


“I trust you unconditionally,” she murmurs, “I just wish you didn’t _have_ to.”

  


“I have to keep you safe,” Merlin mumbles, still quite tired from fighting the poison, “and I’m alright. I’m always alright, you know that.”

  


“I _know,_ Merlin.” She draws back and cups his face with a gentle hand. “But I worry.”

  


“So do I.”  


  


“Not about yourself,” Gwen whispers, “not nearly as much as you should.”  


  


“Well, when I start reacting to deadly things like a normal person, I’ll be more worried.”

  


* * *

  


**2: Bandits**

  


They’re just on a hunting trip. It’s not even a patrol. The knights aren’t even in all their capes and obvious things that flap about in the wind like signal flags saying ‘yes! Hello! We are here and we are obviously from Camelot! Please come and try to stab us!’ Seriously, Merlin’s going to have _words_ with whoever decided that a mandatory part of the knights’ everyday patrol wear is going to be massive red things tied around their necks. It’s a serious thing that he’s run into _at least_ four times. It’s getting a little ridiculous.

  


Anyway, they’re _not_ wearing those this time, because this is a casual hunt for only the king and his most trusted. Also known as: Arthur the prat is getting tired of being a prat in the castle and wants to go be a prat outside.

  


Also also known as: court life is hard and the knights—and Merlin—can see Arthur getting tired. So they drag him out to the woods where he can’t escape any of their snark because “There’s no one else here but us, Princess, get used to it.”

  


Merlin knows Arthur well enough to know he’s secretly very, very grateful for it.

  


You wanna know what he’s probably _not_ grateful for? The inability of one of their hunts to go without running into at least _one_ mess of bandits after an easy raid.

  


_One hunt,_ just one. Please.

  


Merlin doesn’t even _like_ hunts. He just likes not being in the citadel all the time.

  


He ducks swiftly behind a tree as a bandit takes a wild swing at him with his sword, getting it lodged in the trunk next to him. Merlin’s eyes go wide as the bandit rips it out again with a vicious snarl, drool leaking from his lips as he grins angrily at Merlin. His nose wrinkles as he smells the bandit’s breath.

  


“Ugh, you’re worse than Arthur in the morning.”

  


He uses the bandit’s momentary confusion to blast him across the clearing into a tree, knocking him out.

  


“So Arthur in the morning, huh?”

  


Merlin rolls his eyes as Gwaine blocks another sword. “Listen, if _you_ want to try and get the prat out of bed, you be my guest.”

  


“And deprive you of that honor?” Gwaine smirks. “Not on your life.”

  


Merlin opens his mouth to make some snappy remark when he notices four bandits rushing at them over Gwaine’s shoulder.

  


“Look out!”

  


He sends Gwaine to the side with a blast of magic, ignoring the shout of protest. The bandits get closer, swords raised high, one of them letting out a vicious cackle.

  


Merlin sighs. _Honestly._

  


He raises his hand and sends them all flying backward, smiling a little at the way the vicious cackle turns into a whine that would’ve made the runt of the new litter of dogs ashamed. The bandits lie on the ground, dazed, swords lying all across the clearing.

  


“ _Merlin!_ ”

  


Merlin glances over, seeing Arthur rushing at him. He barely has time to turn before Arthur’s bowling into him, hugging him so tightly he panics for a second that Arthur’s under some sort of enchantment trying to kill him. Only to realize no, this is just his prat hugging him because he’s scared.

  


“I’m fine, Arthur.”

  


“There were _four_ of them, you—clot pole!”

  


“That’s my word.”

  


“Yes, and it suits you perfectly! Merlin, you could’ve been killed!”

  


Merlin makes a show of looking around at himself, still fully intact, then back up at a panting Arthur. “I think I’m all in one piece, sire.”

  


“Don’t you ‘sire’ me, Merlin, you—“

  


“Did Arthur just admit that he likes it when I _don’t_ refer to him with the proper titles?” Merlin glances around at the other knights that are trying valiantly not to laugh. “Did I just hear that right?”

  


“That’s what I heard.”

  


“Me too.”

  


“I mean we all knew it.”

  


“It’s taken him this long to figure it out.”

  


Leon simply shrugs. That man’s ability to keep a straight face is something Merlin will always respect and never understand. But he has gotten very good at spotting the way Leon will wink surreptitiously at him when he’s amused. Like now.

  


“Alright, alright, enough,” Arthur mutters, sheathing his sword and wrapping his arms tightly around Merlin again. “Don’t do that.”

  


“What, take care of all of our enemies really easily?”

  


“Scare me. _”_

  


“And now you’re admitting that you get scared when I’m in danger?”

  


“Only because I know Gwen would have my head.”

  


“Ah, yes, because Gwen is like that.”

  


Arthur glares at him. There’s a flash of something behind his eyes. Merlin spots it.

  


“I’m fine,” he murmurs, too quiet for the others to hear, “and I’m sorry for scaring you.”

  


“You’d better be.”

  


“Alright, lovebirds,” Gwaine calls loudly to various laughs, “let’s go. There are still tracks here.”

  


Arthur looks back at Merlin. “You’re riding next to me.”

  


“You say that as if I don’t already ride next to you.”

  


“Shut up.”

  


* * *

  


**3: Fall**

  


Okay so listen: when you chase people around the castle, they inevitably look for a way out. And if they’re high up, they’re going to go for a window if they get desperate enough.

  


Yes? Everyone on the same page?

  


Wonderful.

  


So Merlin’s currently falling out of a window.

  


In his defense, there was a rogue sorcerer who hadn’t realized that the ban on magic had been lifted and Uther isn’t king anymore skulking around the citadel. Merlin’s best guess is that they were imprisoned somewhere and only _just_ got free, otherwise they’d’ve known. And, well, they _tried_ to explain that magic is legal now—he’s so proud of Gwen and Arthur, really.

  


Someone just _burst_ into their chambers in the middle of the knight and Gwen had been out of bed, offering him a drink and sitting down while Arthur asked the guards if they could bring food. They’d told him the ban had been lifted and that he was free to practice magic now. Then Merlin had shown up and asked what was going on and _apparently,_ they’d taken it as a challenge? That Merlin—the _Court Sorcerer—_ was going to arrest them for practicing magic.

  


In _their_ defense, it was the middle of the night. Not in their defense, come on.

  


So they’d run, promising to bring down the walls of the castle. Merlin had rolled his eyes because he _just_ got here, and taken off after him. They’d run around the top floors of the castle for a while, trying to figure out first, where the stairs were, and second, what the bloody hell was going on.

  


Then the sorcerer had jumped out a window. Sure. Alright.

  


Unluckily for him, when he’d broken the glass, a large shard had decided to make its home in his chest and he was dead before he hit the ground. Merlin, not realizing precisely what the plan was—when had he ever?—jumped after him, only to realize that there is in fact, no courtyard over here, just empty air until the cold stone of the square below.

  


So, falling.

  


It’s surprisingly peaceful, as a way to go. Time to enjoy the view, a good reminder that they should _really_ make sure there’s someone at the front gate, and Merlin simply closes his eyes and concentrates.

  


_There._

  


At the last possible minute, he slows, reaching almost a stop, before letting himself drop the last few feet to land harmlessly on the ground. Well. That could’ve gone better.

  


“ _Merlin!_ ”

  


“Right on time,” he mutters, getting himself to his feet, and brushing off the little pieces of glass, looking up to see Gwen leaning out of the window.

  


“Yes, Your Majesty?”

  


“Oh, thank god,” she calls, “you’re alright. Now get _up_ here, this instant.”

  


He grins, sweeping into a low bow before heading up the stairs. He opens the door to their quarters and is promptly yanked inside and into an embrace.

  


“Hello, Gwen,” he says softly, “it’s good to see you too.”

  


“Good to see— _Merlin,”_ Gwen scolds, "you could’ve been _hurt._ ”

  


“But I wasn’t.”

  


“That doesn’t make it any better!” Gwen wipes her face and oh…oops.

  


“I’m alright Gwen,” he says quietly, “really.”

  


It’s late. It’s the middle of the night and it’s dark and Gwen just had to put on every single ounce of royal charm she has, _and_ watch Merlin take a fall that would’ve killed pretty much everyone else. As he watches, her queenly mask starts to break as she keeps a hold of his sleeve, dragging him to the table and setting a plate of food aside, glaring at him.

  


“Are you hurt?”

  


“Not at all, my lady.”

  


“Don’t. Not now, Merlin. Not while I’m this worried.”

  


“I wasn’t trying to,” he demurs, lifting his hands in surrender, “but really, Gwen, I’m not hurt. I’ve been practicing that spell, it won’t—“

  


“You’ve been _practicing?”_ Merlin winces as Gwen draws herself up taller. “So you regularly throw yourself from great heights?”

  


“No, I just jump off my bed.”  


  


“Off your _bed?_ ”

  


“The point is that I slow immediately when the spell takes effect,” Merlin says, “so I don’t need very much distance from the floor.”

  


She folds her arms and stares at him. “So what you’re saying is this is the first time you’ve done it from a great height and you weren’t sure it was going to work?”

  


Merlin’s hesitation gives her all the answers she needs.

  


“Gods, Merlin,” she mumbles, slumping into a chair and covering her face, “you’re going to scare me to death one of these days.”

  


“Nah. I’ll save you from that.”

  


“How, by doing some equally death-defying stunt?”

  


Merlin grins and takes her hand. “No. By not letting you see it.”

  


“Merlin…”

  


He relents, opening his arms and letting her give him another hug. He squeezes back firmly, trying to communicate that he’s _here,_ he’s _safe,_ and it’s _okay._

  


“I’m glad you’re alright,” Gwen whispers eventually, “and I’m glad that everything…worked out. We do need to make sure that the sorcerers no longer feel the need to live in fear…”

  


Merlin chuckles as he feels Gwen’s brow furrow against his shoulder, probably already drafting things to do.

  


“Not tonight, Your Majesty,” he scolds gently, pushing her toward the bed, “you need rest.”

  


“Mm.”

  


“Where’s Arthur?”

  


“Probably looking for you,” Gwen murmurs as she slides back beneath the covers, “so you have to stay up until he gets back.”

  


“…and so _he_ can yell at me too, hmm?”

  


Gwen snuggles into her pillow and smiles.

  


* * *

  


**4: Stab**

  


So.

  


Uh, Merlin doesn’t really _know_ how they got here this time.

  


Because—right, well, it’s not really a _secret_ that Merlin is very close to both Gwen and Arthur. It’s just not. Anyone with a pair of eyes who can walk into Camelot and _see_ them is going to figure it out. Even Uther realized it.

  


Merlin will _never_ forget the way Arthur burst out laughing when he told him what Uther said to Merlin that day before the tournament, looking up with tears in his eyes and just managing to gasp: “you’re telling me that you and I got my father’s blessing before Gwen and I even _started_ seeing each other?”

  


Yes. Yes, he is.

  


Anyway, the point is, Gwen, Merlin, Arthur, they’re very close.

  


_Also_ something that should be fairly obvious to anyone who’s been to Camelot in the last little bit of time is that one: magic is legal. Two: Merlin is Court Sorcerer.

  


Get it? Wonderful. So.

  


The man who is currently holding Merlin hostage with a sword to his throat knows that Merlin is important to Gwen and Arthur. He doesn’t seem to realize that Merlin is Court Sorcerer.

  


How those two things are not the _first_ two things he realized Merlin does not understand. Honestly, he’s going to chalk that up to why he’s too startled by the fact that he’s got people coming at him with a sword to do anything about it. The sheer inability of those facts to reconcile in his brain prevents him from taking any action.

  


Honestly, he’s still figuring that out. Enough so that it takes him a while to realize that Leon is desperately trying to signal him and ask if he’s alright.

  


He gives back the okay and Leon’s expression morphs into one of soft exasperation. To everyone else, it probably doesn’t look like Leon’s face has changed at all, but they haven’t spent several council meetings with the man trading insults only through shifts in micro-expressions.

  


It’s quite entertaining, especially when they start to get really, _really_ creative.

  


Anyway. Sword. Throat. Yes.

  


He’s not sure _why_ currently being held hostage. Someone who wants something, probably. That’s generally why people get taken hostage, right? The sword presses a little closer and Merlin makes an effort to focus.

  


“Do this,” Arthur warns, his own sword out, “and you will never leave Camelot alive.”

  


“What good is Camelot,” the man scoffs, “if it allows for the devilish act of witchcraft and sorcery that will poison it from the inside?”

  


“You’re wrong.”

  


“Maybe,” the man snarls, spittle flying from his lips, “but not nearly as _stupid_ as you.”

  


Arthur glances at Merlin. Merlin nods.

  


“Let him go,” Arthur says again, “and this might yet end well.”

  


The man throws his head back and cackles, the sword nudging insistently at his throat. Merlin winces. That was _loud._

  


“This won’t end well,” the man says through his giggles, “and you know it.”

  


“Then _let him go._ ”

  


“Alright,” the man snickers, “but you’ll have to give me a head start.”

  


Gwaine snarls, even as Arthur holds firm.

  


“I make you no promises.”

  


“I know. That’s why I’m giving _myself_ a head start.”

  


Merlin’s about to wonder what the hell that means only for the sword to drive into his stomach.

  


Ah. That’s not ideal.

  


He slumps to the ground as the man lets him go, hearing the screams from the servants gathered in the hall and the shouts from the knights. He feels the breeze as they rush past him, two remaining behind to immediately put pressure on the wound and get him upright, wrapping his stomach tightly and promising that he’s going to be alight.

  


“‘Lyan?”

  


“Yeah, Merlin,” Elyan mutters, “it’s me. Leon’s here too, we’ve got you.”

  


“You’ll be alright, yes?” Leon whips off the bloodied tunic. “You will be _fine._ ”

  


“Sit m’ up.”

  


They do, propping him up against the wall as the servants quickly rush for Gaius, for hot water, for bandages. Someone—maybe Malwen—sets a bowl at Leon’s elbow, followed by the quick assurances that Gaius is on his way.

  


Merlin closes his eyes and concentrates, trying to remember the few times Gaius tried to teach him about basic anatomy. Listen, it’s not that he _wasn’t_ paying attention, it’s just that he—

  


Yeah, no, he wasn’t paying much attention.

  


Listen, like…three _different_ people were trying to kill Arthur that day. He was preoccupied.

  


Stab wound. Right.

  


Merlin takes a deep breath, ignoring the way the breath aches and wheezes as it travels into him, and starts to gently draw magic from the well in his chest toward the stab wound. He feeds it slowly, trying not to overexert himself, just enough to staunch and stop the bleeding until Gaius can get here.

  


Something clatters to the floor next to him and he barely looks over enough to see Arthur.

  


“Stay still,” Arthur murmurs frantically, fussing with his tunic, “you’ll be alright Merlin, I promise, you’re going to be alright.”

  


Merlin knows, but he’s busy right now, so he can’t really talk back.

  


“It’s going to be alright,” Arthur repeats, over and over, “Merlin, you’re going to be alright.”

  


He manages to look over, catching sight of Arthur’s hair a mess, his eyes wild, his mouth a hard line. Arthur glances up from his slightly trembling hands and catches his gaze, doing his best to put on a brave smile. He reaches out and cups Merlin’s face gently.

  


“It’s going to be alright,” he says softly, speaking as much to both of them as he can, “you’re going to be alright, Gaius will fix you up, and then I can worry about how to make sure you’re _safe,_ so this _never_ happens again.”

  


His mouth quirks when something flits across Merlin’s face.

  


“If you try and tell me you can take care of yourself,” he admonishes gently, “I am going to remind you that you currently have quite the stab wound.”

  


One that Merlin is handling quite well, actually, thank you very much.

  


“I know you’d rather it be you than us,” Arthur whispers, laying his forehead against Merlin’s, “but you—you _can’t_ just let this happen to you, Merlin, you’ll…”

  


He swallows, his eyes drifting shut.

  


“…you’ll break my heart.”

  


A surge of magic shoots through Merlin at Arthur’s hushed confession, filling the wound with a burning glow. Merlin leans forward as much as he can, resting his own weight on the wall and on Arthur. Arthur holds him gladly, muttering that he can’t _wait_ until Merlin’s better so he can scold him for being so reckless.

  


Well, when Merlin figures out how the man didn’t realize he was magic, he’ll have one hell of a defense. Who knows, Arthur might get a kick out of it too.

  


* * *

  


**5: Plague**

  


_At some point,_ Merlin thinks as he heaves another stone out of the way, _we’re going to stop coming across cursed objects. There has to be a limit. There just has to be._

  


This one has a plague attached to it because of _course,_ it does. The entire citadel had been overrun with shadow demons that could only be seen by one person, everyone jumping at every little sound, unsure of whether they were seeing real people or the figments of their nightmares. What made things far worse is that _some_ of them could be seen by multiple people and some of them couldn’t. So you could never be sure whether people would believe what you were seeing.

  


Someone called this the Plague of the Shadow Cat.

  


Gaius had gone into the books, trying to figure out a solution. Turns out the only way was to go to this cavern out in the middle of nowhere and destroy these four totems that allowed the Shadow Cat passage, in order to break the curse. The problem was that the cavern was in the middle of a massive forest that _no one_ wanted to go close to.

  


Merlin had sighed and packed his bags.

  


As it turns out, the forest was designed to keep people out of it—reasonable—and used magic to twist someone’s fears to keep them at bay. You know what Merlin has? Magic.

  


It was easier than it would’ve been for anyone else, surely, which is good. What isn’t good is that Merlin still has to survive going through this massive forest. He’s had enough of dried meat and berries for a _long_ time, thank you very much.

  


After about a day or two of walking and _not_ getting lost, he’s just being _thorough,_ he reaches the entrance of the cavern. It’s piled high with rocks from what _looks_ like a collapse, and starts trying to get them out of the way. Unfortunately, most of his magic is going to keeping the nightmares at bay, meaning he can’t really risk using it to get these stones out of his way lest he let the nightmares in.

  


He’s had enough nightmares for a lifetime already.

  


He grunts as he heaves another one out of the way. Honestly. Is there a checklist he can look at with all the cursed objects in the world? They’ve got to be at _least_ halfway done at this point, come on. It’s been _years._

  


At last, he manages to get the stones out of the way and ventures into the cavern. Around the twists and turns he reaches the center, seeing the four totems. He snaps his fingers to create a light, peering at each one. It seems as if he’s just going to have to disenchant them. Well, that won’t be too hard.

  


And…it isn’t. Huh. That’s a little anti-climactic.

  


He’s sure if he had to battle his way past his greatest fears and the Shadow Cat was actually _here_ fighting him, this would be a lot harder. But, it’s not, so here he is, all done. Now he just has to get back through the forest. _Ugh._

  


Merlin rides back into Camelot to see the people in the streets, happy, content, not afraid. He smiles, letting their joy wash some of the forests off of him. He slides off Cara and puts her away, wiping her down and giving her as many treats as the stable master will let him. He makes it back inside, to Gaius’s chambers, ready to throw open the door triumphantly and announce he’s fixed it!

  


The second he opens it to see Gwen and Arthur he freezes.

  


“…hello.”

  


“Hello, Merlin,” Arthur says softly, and _oh shit he’s in trouble,_ “did you travel well?”

  


“A little damp, if I’m being…” He trails off when Arthur shoots him a look. “Yes. I did.”

  


Arthur nods sharply, leaning against the table and folding his arms.

  


“The curse is broken,” he tries, letting the door shut behind him, “and I don’t think it’ll ever come back.”

  


“That’s good, Merlin,” Arthur says in a tone of voice that suggests anything but, “that’s _very_ good. _”_

  


Merlin nods hesitantly, glancing at Gwen. Gwen doesn’t look back at him, her eyes fixed on the vase of flowers in front of her. She withdraws one and holds it gently in her hands, turning toward Merlin, expressionless. Merlin fights the urge to flinch as she finally looks up at him.

  


“Do you know,” she says and this time Merlin _does_ flinch, Gwen’s never sounded that cold before, “what happened the last time you vanished without telling us?”

  


Merlin’s heart drops to the pit of his stomach.

  


Oh.

  


_Oh._

  


_Oh, no._

  


“I’m sorry,” he says, starting forward, “I didn’t realize—I—“

  


“No, Merlin,” Gwen says, still cold, “you _don’t_ realize.”

  


“We trust you, Merlin,” Arthur continues, “but that doesn’t mean that you can just _leave,_ in the middle of a _plague,_ on a mission that could get you _killed_ without saying goodbye.”

  


“You don’t get to decide that it’s worth it,” Gwen says before Merlin can interrupt, “and you _certainly_ don’t get to decide that we don’t deserve a chance to say goodbye.”

  


Merlin deflates, their words striking his chest with such ferocity that for a moment, he wonders if _this_ is the fear he’s meant to face. “I’m…I’m sorry, I just…I knew I could do it.”

  


He closes his eyes. “I have to protect Camelot, protect _you._ ”

  


“We know, Merlin,” Gwen says, her voice finally softening just a little, “but you don’t realize that we have to protect _you_ too.”

  


Arthur walks forward, lifting Merlin’s chin. Merlin stares at him, desperately wanting Arthur to smile. _Something._

  


“You’re the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth,” Arthur says instead, “but you’re still our Merlin. So we worry.”

  


“I know.”

  


“So,” Arthur says, giving him a gentle nudge, “don’t _do_ that.”

  


“You may be nearly immortal, but we’re not,” Gwen adds, coming over to take his hand too, “and you _will_ give us more reason to stress than any of the things you stop put together.”

  


Merlin looks back and forth between the two of them. “So you’re not…angry?”

  


“Oh, of course we are.”

  


Merlin winces, only for Arthur to pull him into a tight hug, his head tucking over Merlin’s shoulder.

  


“Completely furious,” he murmurs, nuzzling into Merlin’s neck, “aren’t we, Gwen?”

  


“Absolutely.” Merlin feels Gwen wrap her arms around him as well. “Totally and utterly furious.”

  


Merlin wriggles halfheartedly in their grasp. “I’m not getting out of this anytime soon, am I?”

  


“No. This is your punishment. Stay put.”

  


“…fine.”

  


* * *

  


**+1: Cold**

  


_“No,_ Arthur,” Merlin grunts, shoving the prat back into bed, “ _stay,_ I will get you the soup.”

  


Arthur pouts, looking every bit a sad golden puppy in his read blanket as Merlin bustles about the room. “I can stand, Merlin.”

  


“No, you can’t, you’re sick. Now shush and eat.”

  


From the other room comes a sneeze that is _far_ too close to the door.

  


“Gwen, you’d better be in bed when I come in there!”

  


He hears the quick pitter-patter of footsteps as he crosses the room to the other chambers, hands on his hips as Gwen glances up, guiltily letting the covers drop on top of her.

  


“I’m in bed,” she says, holding up her hands, “see?”

  


“Yes, I can see,” Merlin huffs, “but you have to _stay_ there. You’re _sick._ ”

  


“It’s just a cold, Merlin, I’m—I’m—“

  


Gwen is cut off by another spectacular sneeze.

  


“…handkerchief?”

  


Merlin rolls his eyes and offers her one, watching as she blows her nose and shakes out her curls. If Arthur’s the puppy, she’s the kitten, startling herself with the force of her own sneezes.

  


“What were you so desperate to get out of bed for?”

  


“The book on my desk,” Gwen mumbles, reaching for it, “I wanted to—“

  


“Keep working.”

  


“No!” At Merlin’s knowing look, she makes a face. “…maybe.”

  


Merlin sighs. “I will _get_ you a book, but you promised you wouldn’t try to work like this.”

  


“But I’m _fine._ ”

  


“Yes, and I notice your sneezes didn’t interrupt you this time.”

  


“Merlin, I am alright.”

  


“Yes, so let’s have you stay in bed and _rest_ until you’re _better,_ hmm?”

  


He hears a clang from the other room. He narrows his eyes at Gwen who blinks innocently at him. Without breaking eye contact, he waves his hand.

  


_“Hey!”_

  


“Get your arse back in bed, sire.”

  


“I’m _fine,_ Merlin.”

  


Merlin raises his eyebrows at Gwen. “Will you stay while I get your husband back in bed, please?”

  


“…if you bring me the book on the desk, I will.”

  


Merlin glances over and waves his hand. Gwen’s poetry book—not her work book—flies into his hand and he gives it to her.

  


“All yours.”

  


“ _Merlin,_ that’s not—“

  


“You surely weren’t trying to _work_ were you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Because _that_ would be a _bad_ idea.”

  


Gwen pops open the book and buries her nose in it. “…thank you, Merlin.”

  


“You are most welcome. Now _you,_ ” he announces, striding back to see Arthur trying to open the now magically locked door, “will go back to _bed._ ”

  


“Gaius said we were _fine,_ Merlin,” Arthur pouts, “so we can go.”

  


“Gaius also said that _I_ was in charge, so you’ll go back to bed.”

  


“Well, I’m the King.”

  


“And I’m the Court Sorcerer.” Merlin lifts his hand, letting a little of his magic swirl around his hand. “Which means you should get back in bed.”  


“Threatening a king is treason, Merlin.”

  


“Yes, yes, and I’m sure the knights would be thrilled,” Merlin replies dryly, shooing Arthur back to bed, “now you will _stay put._ ”

  


He doesn’t quite swaddle Arthur in the blanket but it is a close thing. Arthur just grumbles a little, reaching out and grabbing Merlin’s tunic and dragging him down onto the bed too. “Then you stay.”

  


“I have to get your medicine.”

  


“Have the guards do it.” Arthur snuggles into his tunic. “You stay.”

  


Merlin resigns himself to his fate, curling around his king. Arthur rumbles happily, nuzzling into Merlin’s neck.

  


“That’s the last time I let you two go out for picnics in the moonlight,” Merlin grumbles to himself, “look at what’s happened to you.”

  


“Now you know how we feel,” Arthur mumbles sleepily.

  


“You realize that we are now even for all of the things I’ve done, then.”

  


“Oh, no. Not even close.”

  


“Shut up and go to sleep, sire.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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